


Let Your Instinct Lead Me Too

by Bennyhatter



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adrian really becomes rather enthusiastic, Animalistic Tendencies, Animalistic characters, Biting, Bonding, Characters born with unique markings, Characters who cannot words, Characters with magical ability, Knotting, Licking, M/M, Magic, Mating Bites, Non-human characters that still look human, Otherwise known as Birthright Signs, Shifters, Supernatural Elements, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy, That doesn't stay dubious for long, seriously someone stop me, somewhat dubious consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9979163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter
Summary: Clooney has been living with Adrian for a few months now. It hasn't all been easy considering he's roommates with a man that spent 30 years of his life as a dog. When Clooney makes his interest known, will Adrian be able to look past all that and allow himself what he knows will make them both happy?(Yes. Yes he will.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CarburetorCastiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarburetorCastiel/gifts).



> I'M NOT DEAD. I'm also clearly not back with a Rickyl thing, BUT AN OC THING INSTEAD. I know, I know, how dare I. ;u; But seriously guys this idea grabbed hold and DEMANDED to be written. It's connected to another, bigger story that will get posted... eventually. But for now - HEY GUYS HERE HAVE SOME SMUT IF'N YOU LIKE.
> 
> I'm sorry it's not Rickyl. I hope y'all like it anyway. ;o; I HOPE YOU LIKE IT TOO MINE SALSA SURPRISE YOU DIDN'T KNOW THIS WAS FOR YOU HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Adrian’s bed set is an old monster that's long since become more rust than metal. His father gave it to him - which is really the only reason he's kept it - and the mattress fits perfectly in the frame. It's easy for him to deal with the creaking and squealing of unhappy hinges for that level of comfort and familiarity. He's still fully expecting to wake up on the floor one day, with nothing but the mangled skeleton remaining to cradle him, but it hasn't happened yet.

It's the squeaking that wakes him up at first. He mumbles sleepily, slurring words that aren't even fully formed and fumbling to make sense of his own complaints when the bed sinks dangerously beneath the weight of another body.

“You gotta go out, Cloon?” he gets out around a yawn, trying to will his eyes to open so he can figure out whether it's a dog or a man crawling over him. The shifter still prefers his canine form, which is fine. Since he still refuses to have anything to do with indoor plumbing, it's easier to let a dog out into the back yard than to stand and watch a man piss on the bushes.

Clooney rumbles quietly, a deep sound that doesn't quite reverberate against Adrian’s bones the way it would if he were a dog. Cracking his eyes open, he rolls over to look up at the man and blinks to try and focus his sleep-blurred vision.

“What’s wrong, bud?” he asks, the words strangled and lazy around a second yawn; this one is wide enough to make his jaw crack. He reaches up to run his fingers through Clooney’s thick brown hair and makes a confused, tired noise when sharp teeth close around the side of his palm. The shifter doesn’t bite down and he’s not growling, but Adrian can still feel the intent in the careful flexing of the teeth pressing into his skin. Clooney is deliberately holding himself back, and when his vision finally clears enough to see properly Adrian catches the gleam in the tall man’s dark brown eyes.

“Clooney?” he whispers. His throat feels dry, and he licks his lips unconsciously to try and wet them. His cheeks are still warm from sleep, the rest of him wrapped up in his blankets. His hair must look like a rat’s nest of tangles, and his own brown eyes are probably still somewhat unfocused as he struggles to comprehend what’s happening with the last traces of sleep clouding the edges of his mind. “What’s up?”

His hand is released, nothing but the faint imprint of canines left behind when he tucks it against his chest and tilts his head slightly. Sometimes Clooney goes through strange moods. He’ll lay on Adrian if he’s on the floor, or he’ll head-butt him until he lays down. Sometimes he’ll just stare until Adrian tilts his head enough for the shifter to see the sensitive skin under his chin. Those things usually appease him, and maybe Adrian still can’t fully comprehend the more animalistic instincts of his shifter roommate, but Clooney has never been violent toward him. He’s willing to let a lot of things slide if there’s no deeper issues to be worried about.

After another moment of unbroken eye contact, Clooney crawls the rest of the way up until he’s fully over Adrian. He’s completely naked - which isn’t unusual at all considering he’s consistently happy to tear apart whatever clothes Adrian tries to buy him until they’re nothing but ruined strips and pieces of fluff scattered across the hardwood floors. After the fourth outfit that met the same fate, he realized that the man was happier in his own skin, even if being human was still somewhat of a new, uncomfortable thing for him. He spent so many years as a dog that he really is the happiest in that form; Adrian can’t really blame him for seeking out something so familiar after his entire life got turned upside down.

“Come on, Clooney, work with me here,” he coaxes, reaching up again and smiling when the shifter ducks his head and allows Adrian to run his fingers through the man’s wild, dark hair. He’s careful not to catch and pull on any tangles, and the way Clooney rumbles makes him shiver despite how hard he tries to hide it. He’s only human- even if the Birthright Sign on the back of his hand marks him as Otherfolk - and Clooney as a human is dangerously attractive; something right out of a fantastical novel or even a stunningly gorgeous model. Hell, he could be a damn statue, molded into perfection by an artist's methodical care. Adrian knows what that says about him that he sometimes lust after a man who spent the last  _ thirty years _ as a dog, but sometimes he can’t help himself.

“What do you need?”

Clooney growls softly and drops his head to nose at Adrian’s bare chest. He inhales deeply, the gust of air when he snorts tickling across sensitive skin and making Adrian's nipples pebble. Adrian bites his lip and tries very, very hard not to react, but the sin personified perched above him isn’t making that very easy. When Clooney drags his broad tongue across Adrian’s collarbones, he has to close his eyes and grit his teeth.

“Come on, Clooney. Off. That’s enough.”

Clooney growls against the damp flesh and nips him hard enough to make him twitch. He hisses through his teeth and tries to gently push the man away, but the shifter is a lot stronger than him, and he gets another, firmer nip to the swell of one bare shoulder. “Clooney, off,” he says again, trying to keep his voice firm. There have been moments of affection between himself and his house guest before, but never anything like this. If it were any other kind of situation, he wouldn’t be saying no at all, but there’s definitely a morality issue this time. Clooney can’t even  _ talk _ . He can’t convey his thoughts in a way that verifies consent. He may be trying to initiate right now, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. 

The other alternative is that all of this is a different kind of dominance act, but when Adrian risks a glance downward and sees the interest swelling between Clooney’s legs, he doubts that very much.

“Off,” he says again, forcing his voice not to waver. He’s trying to force himself not to react at all, but sweat is already beading across his forehead and prickling at his throat. He feels damp and too warm, the blankets a constriction rather than a comfort now. He’s only wearing boxers, but it’s better than nothing, so he tries to struggle free until Clooney makes another deep, rumbling noise and a broad hand presses against his stomach to pin him. “No,” Adrian whispers. It sounds weak and soft even to his own ears, so it’s no surprise when Clooney ignores him and nudges his chin upwards. He sniffs at the line of Adrian's throat and licks up some of the sweat there. His next grumble is pleased, his hot, hard body dipping a little lower; he’s ready to immobilize Adrian if he needs to, and the man doesn’t need a verbal affirmative to recognize that. And yet, he doesn’t feel trapped either; he knows that if he really struggled to get away then Clooney would let him go. If he fought that frantically, the shifter would back away and he could flee. He knows he  _ should _ be fighting to get free. He should be throwing punches if he has to. Instead, he’s lying still underneath the bigger man and watching every move he makes with wide eyes. His breathing is already shallow, arousal simmering in his veins, and he knows it’s wrong, he  _ knows  _ it is, but when Clooney scents him again he shudders and barely manages to bite back a soft, breathy sound. This close, the older man smells spicy and earthy. It’s a heady combination, almost addictive, and he can’t help but breathe it in deeply until his eyes flutter shut and he bites his lip. When Clooney licks over his adam’s apple, teeth scraping over his sensitive flesh, Adrian can’t swallow down his moan. He feels like he’s making all the wrong decisions, but there’s also something so  _ right  _ about it all.

Adrian forces himself to open his eyes again and looks up at Clooney, taking in everything he sees. It’s not even that Clooney is physically attractive, or that he’s so much bigger. He’s taller, his shoulders are broader, and his muscles are more developed, but it’s not just his appearance that’s been pulling Adrian to him for the last several months. There’s something about Clooney’s wildness, that untamed part of him that might be instinct, or it just might be the way he is after so long with only dogs as company. He’s an animal in human form, something deadly and beautiful that promises a challenge, a brutal death, or an incredible fuck. He wears his feral nature in the Birthright Sign on his pectoral, the stark black paw print a constant reminder that even though he looks human, he’s something so much different. Adrian is Otherfolk, same as him, but he doesn’t really have another form he can sink into. He can’t run on all fours. He doesn’t have those wild instincts like most other shifters do. When Clooney lifts his head, his nostrils flaring, it’s not Adrian’s first instinct to duck his own and bare his throat. Instead, he reaches up to fist his hands in the shifter’s hair and drags him down into a kiss.

As first kisses go, it’s a complete mess. Clooney has no idea what he’s trying to do, which isn’t surprising. Adrian does his best to show the man, but there’s something unbearably sexy about the way the shifter bites at his lips and growls into his mouth. There’s no finesse or tact. It’s all raw, primal desire, and it’s enough to make goosebumps break out across Adrian’s flesh. He shudders under the assault, letting his mouth go slack and his body arch up against the firm, unmoving strength that waits coiled in Clooney’s muscles; his body giving off heat in waves that make Adrian shudder and strain to be closer.

Adrian has had sex before. There's never any judgement in Riverwood, no need for him to hide who he is. No one turns their noses up at something as natural and beautiful as love, and the town is filled with like-minded Otherfolk as well as humans whose tastes run closer to his own.

None of them compare to the raw, primal drive in Clooney. His animalistic instincts run closer to the surface than most; they dominate his actions and lead his reactions. He's feral and gorgeous, naked on Adrian's bed and already hard enough to leak at the tip; his hips flexing as he rumbles out a stream of soft, deep growls.

“Fuck, you're incredible,” Adrian moans quietly. He digs his nails into solid back muscles and rocks up against the thigh that pushes between his when Clooney shifts for a better angle to bite at his shoulder. It's a hot, sharp pain - a claiming bite if ever Adrian saw one. It ripples through him in waves of pain that leave him cold but satisfied - an unusual combination but so fucking pleasurable that he's coming without even realizing he was that close to the edge to begin with.

Clooney lets out a rough, pleased noise deep in his chest and rocks forward, dragging his cock through the mess on the smaller man's stomach and thighs. Adrian can't help but reach down to touch the shifter's hot, hard flesh; cradling the man's cock in his palm before reaching down further to feel his heavy testicles. Clooney bares his teeth and ruts like a beast until Adrian feels something he realizes is Clooney’s  _ knot _ . He gasps and squeezes it, feeling it thicken in his hand; biting his lip as indecent thoughts tumble wildly through his mind and crash against his resistances like tsunami waves.

“Cloon,” he breathes, the fragile words wrapped in a trembling sound that's too close to a whimper. “Jesus, Cloon. Look at you.”

Cloon growls and ruts harder, mindless in his pleasure even as he cards his fingers through Adrian's hair and tilts his head back to suck and nip at the younger man's throat. The sparks of pleasure and pain are almost too much, intermingling in Adrian's oversensitive nerves until he's trying to pull away long enough to grab the lube tucked the top drawer of his nightstand. Clooney must think that he's trying to get away because arms lock around him like steel bands and haul him back. His knees drag against the sheets and he winces, the unexpected pain dulling the pleasure momentarily. “Cloon,” he gasps, turning to look back over his shoulder. He's splayed out uncomfortably, his knees beneath him and his torso twisted. Clooney licks up his spine, following the curve to his shoulder, where chapped lips and sharp teeth scrape at his hypersensitive skin. Adrian shivers, moans quietly, and reaches back to fist his hand in the shifter's hair.

“I can't take you if I'm not ready, baby,” he groans. His muscles protest his position, unused to it and already starting to ache, so he shifts until he's practically face down and ass up for the shifter. Clooney makes a possessive, pleased noise and suddenly he's on top of Adrian, pinning him and thrusting with no coordination but more than enough determination. It's sexy beyond belief, pushing at his body and taking in ways that are more instinctive than inexperienced. Adrian has no clue if the shifter has ever had sex before, even in his canine form; it's not a thought he's eager to dwell on when it doesn't really matter in the end. Not when he's got the man growling and huffing into his ear, his thick cock sliding between Adrian's ass cheeks and dragging across his hot, aching hole. He chokes on a bit of saliva, digging his nails into the mattress, and tries to reach for the lube again with pleasure blurring his sight.

“Cloon, you gotta let me get stretched,” he hisses when the shifter growls and bites at his nape, trying to hold him in place. “Come on, bud, think how much better it'll be if you can be  _ inside _ of me. You can breed me nice and full then, yeah? Won't that be better?”

His own words make him tremble, make him  _ want _ , and Clooney must at least sense his intentions even if he can't understand the words. The crushing grip on him loosens, allowing him the freedom to grab for his nightstand drawer. He smacks his hand on the corner in his haste and makes a pained sound, but he doesn't stop until he's got the bottle in his hand and he's popping the cap open to pour what is probably too much onto his fingers. Some drips onto the bed, leaving a telltale mark behind, but Adrian can't find it in himself to care; he's too busy already reaching down between his legs, lifting his hips higher when Clooney shuffles back so he has room to curl his fingers between his spread, trembling thighs and push one past his twitching rim.

“Oh fuck,” he grits out between clenched teeth, grinding his molars together until his jaw aches when he goes too fast too soon. It's been a while, but Clooney’s enthusiasm is infectious and Adrian is too eager to go slow this time. It's not often he's had men in his bed that made him fumble like a virginal teenager, but Clooney is something so entirely different than anyone he's ever taken home before - in every sense.

One finger becomes two sooner than it should and he curls them, his abdominal muscles trembling against his forearm as he bends and twists, desperately searching for the spot that will make his speed worth it. He moans when he finds it, grinding down on his own hand and feeling the pleasure build until sweat is dripping from him and he's practically writhing on his fingers. He adds the third one, biting his lip as the stretch of the fourth follows almost immediately after and groaning low in his throat.

Clooney leans back, cool air spilling across Adrian's skin when the shifter moves away. Before he can protest, hot breath kisses his wet hand and teeth close around the swell of his thumb; tugging until his fingers slide free with a filthy sound that makes his cheeks burn and his cock drip.

“Cloon,” he moans, trying to turn and see what's happening. A nose presses against his perineum before he can, swiftly followed by a hot, wet tongue that licks into him. It's a shock, pulling a punched-out cry from his raw lungs. His face hits the mattress and his spine arches painfully, thought bleeding away and leaving only the need behind until he's grinding back on Clooney’s face and  _ riding his tongue _ . He can't even form words that are coherent enough to understand. He knows what he's  _ trying _ to say, but they get lost somewhere between his vocal chords and his teeth, tumbling uselessly past slack lips and trailing down his chin with the rest of the drool he can't keep back.

It's impossible to convey when he's ready; when it's too much and he needs more or he'll fly apart into nothingness. His magic is a heavy thrum in his veins, brimming and spilling through his skin to fill the room. It makes the space too hot, the air heavy and muggy like they've stepped from the forests of Vermont into a tropical jungle. Adrian is drenched in sweat and wrapped in desire, his skin flushed and his eyes glassy; his black hair sticking to his shoulders and cheeks as he winds tighter and tighter. If Clooney doesn't stop he'll snap, he won't be able to stop himself and he'll miss out on what he  _ really _ wants to feel.

“Come on,” he hisses, looking over his shoulder and catching the feral, possessive glitter in the shifter's lust-black eyes when he pulls back. There's lube and sweat smeared on his face like a manifestation of sin, his lips parted and his canines looking sharper than they had a moment ago. “That's right,” Adrian croons, spreading his legs just a little wider. “That's all for you. You gonna take it? Gonna breed your  _ bitch _ ?”

The words are filthier than anything he's ever said to anyone else who's shared his bed. He has no idea what's driving him to say them, but the hot, heavy thrill that rushes through him is almost as euphoric as an orgasm. He groans and lifts his hips a little higher, his chin and nose pressed into a pillow hard enough that it's damp from his sweat and his hot, eager gasps. It's a wonder he can get any air at all with the way he's trying to smother his noises to keep anything else from slipping out in his desire-drunk state of mind. Clooney is a hot weight against his back, the shifter's firm, defined chest pressing and sliding as their sweat mingles and creates a slick sheen. Adrian imagines that they must reek of each other's scents by now, and he finds the thought pleasing. It's not something he's ever really thought about before, but living in close proximity to Clooney has taught him several things that being best friends with a shifter never quite managed to cover.

Adrian is brought out of his thoughts when sharp teeth close around the nape of his neck. It's a startling feeling having so many sharp points digging into his unprotected flesh. He wants to buck and throw Clooney off of himself, or at least thrash enough to get those fangs away. A quiet voice somewhere inside him whispers  _ don't _ , the feeling that accompanies the thought a twisted knot of pleasure and nerves. It's going to hurt, he knows it is, but there’s still the promise that the payoff will be more than worth it. Hopefully.

Clooney bites down, flesh tearing under the strength of his serrated fangs. It fucking  _ hurts _ alright, and Adrian's pained shout is strangled by the sudden burning pleasure of having something larger than his own fingers thrusting deep inside of him. The shifter doesn't stop, not until his hips are flush against the trembling swell of Adrian's hips and ass. He quivers, making broken sounding noises that are a mix of the pleasure and pain that feels like it's going to tear him in too many directions. There will be nothing left of him by the end of this, their coupling promising to outstrip all others Adrian has shared in. He already feels unmade, fragile and new in the shadow cast over him by the creature that has him by the nape. Despite all of it though - the pain and the pleasure and the tender thread that keeps him from shattering - Adrian is not afraid.

“Please,” he whispers when he can't take it anymore. His nails are digging into the bed so hard they're bending back, his lips curling back and his jaws clenched as he shudders. He can't help but push back onto the cock inside of him, a thin whine slipping through the gaps between his teeth at the feeling. His rim feels stretched and hot, the sharp ache dulling slowly until his lungs stop seizing and he can suck in his first raw, shuddering breath. “Please, Cloon,” he tries again. He licks his dry lips, panting with his mouth open and shutting his eyes so tightly they ache. Clooney is silent and still above him; frozen as if he's waiting for something, or maybe because he's just as overwhelmed as Adrian is. He growls softly, his mouth slick with warm blood against Adrian's nape. Red drips down either side of his throat, staining the sheets, and Adrian's abdominal muscles clench as he curls himself enough to feel the cock inside of him shift just right.

“ _ Move _ ,” he chokes out. Clooney might not understand most English conversations, but he understands that command just fine. He thrusts once, an experiment, and Adrian can't bite back his reactive cry. The second thrust comes and he claws at the sheets. He rocks back, demanding and greedy, and Clooney growls as he adjusts his grip. His teeth pull from Adrian's flesh, a hot tongue dragging across the wound; his nose nudging the younger man's hair out of the way to clean it all up. Strong forearms lock around his sides, angling his hips, and Clooney finally obeys.

It's instantly too much and not nearly enough. It's pain and pleasure and a stretch that burns in all the most intensely pleasurable ways. Adrian can't tell if he's screaming or silent, his blood roaring in his ears as sharp claws dig into his flesh and a power beyond his control tears him apart down to his atoms, only to rebuild him back up into something new. Clooney’s Birthright Sign feels like it's burning a brand into the wing of his shoulder blade, his own sending searing tendrils up his arm from the back of his hand. There's too many sensations to follow at once; he's lost somewhere in the center of the storm, desperately searching for the calm eye for a chance to breathe even as he clings to the whipping winds and tumbles along the currents of pleasure until they swallow him whole.

This is not just sex. It's primal and natural, his magic rippling across his skin in thick vines that wind across Clooney’s throat and trail down his heaving back. Adrian can feel it as they creep across the shifter's skin; it's like he's trailing his fingers over the firm muscles even as his hands fist in the blankets and he tries not to get thrown from the force of the hips snapping against his. Clooney is a force of nature, something wild and untouchable. Men can try to tame him, they can  _ dream _ of conquering such power for their own gains, but they'll never come close. Adrian will never even try, he knows the raw strength of nature enough to know not to ever attempt something so foolish. Having it in his bed is enough; having it in the form of a wild shifter mating him so intensely he forgets everything but  _ feeling _ is more than he ever expected to get.

The sensation of Clooney’s knot swelling pulls little yelps and fragmented grunts from Adrian's throat every time it pushes into his eager body. It grinds against all the right spots, robbing him of his sight and turning the world into a canvas of black, flickering spots against white. His humanity is wiped clean, leaving nothing but the core of him - the wild forest where his magic grows wild and unchecked. Moss drips from his skin like sweat, hanging from the crooks of his bent elbows. His skin ripples and becomes bark, his hands and feet morphing to burrow deep into the bed like the roots of a mighty pine. He feels the phantom drag of fur and the heat of the sun; the scrape of teeth and the power of the life at his back.

Clooney sinks home one last time with a roar, his knot swelling enough to lock them together. He becomes a  _ god _ , wrapping around Adrian and dragging him along as they ascend beyond the mortal fallacies that plague mankind. They become something more than they are, something beyond what they've ever been, and Adrian's orgasm is as much a release as it is a new beginning. It leaves him wrung out and exhausted, his magic bleeding away slowly until it settles beneath his pale, soft skin. His vision returns and he blinks tiredly at the deep holes in his mattress, brushing his fingers weakly across them and feeling the softness of the moss that has slipped inside of one. That's never happened before, he's  _ never _ changed his shape, but he's too tired to fully process it right now.

The shifter nuzzles the back of his neck, licking up blood and sweat and the last traces of the magic that had spilled from Adrian unchecked. He feels so strange now that he's back in his human skin. It's the only skin he ever wore before today, but that other self had felt so  _ right _ . He briefly wonders if he can find a way to shift like that again before a nudge to his shoulder brings him out of those thoughts.

“I'm okay, Cloon,” he rasps. His throat feels sore, the syllables more reminiscent of the drag of bark across stone rather than spoken word. His chuckle is weak but heartfelt. “Jesus, you're something else.”

The shifter rumbles, and Adrian feels the first brush of a foreign mind against his own. He reaches carefully, minding the sharp edges of something new and curious. Clooney rumbles again, deeper this time, and Adrian spills into his mind when the wary walls give suddenly to admit him entrance. He's wrapped in familiar strength, the sensation of a metaphysical tongue dragging across his nape making him shiver pleasantly.

“Hey there, bud,” Adrian murmurs, soft and awed and affectionate. He reaches back to run his fingers through the man's thick, sweaty hair, marveling at the incredible creature that cradles him with more tenderness than anyone ever has.

_ Mate _ , he hears, the word more of a sensation than a fully-formed thought. On its heels is something similar, something certain and proudly possessive that makes Adrian shiver in a mixture of delight and pleasure.

**_Mine_ ** .

“All yours, big guy,” he chuckles. He feels so exhausted, the lure of sleep too strong to ignore. They sink onto the ruined bed together, curled up in their nest and listening to the quietness of their den; the muffled sounds of life beyond the walls too far away to be a true nuisance. “You're mine too,” Adrian adds after a quiet moment, turning to look back at the shifter and feeling bold enough to lick one tanned, stubble-rough cheek. “Don't you forget it.”

They're going to need a bigger bed, he decides with a tired smile. And maybe a frame that won't squeak so badly. No need to give the neighbors reasons to complain.

Not that anything like that ever happens in Riverwood anyway.


End file.
